THE DRIVE TO THE RENTAL HOUSE

The necklace caught the low light of the embers, glittering coldly in Gabriel’s hand.

Sloane let out a desperate, guttural sound and lunged for him. Gabriel simply sidestepped her, and she crashed into the oak desk, gasping for breath.

“You told me you lost this in Paris,” Gabriel said, staring at the diamonds.

“Give it back!” Sloane screamed.

I recognized the necklace. I had seen it in portraits around the house. It had belonged to Gabriel’s mother.

Gabriel turned to me. “Erin, do you know why this necklace is important?”

I shook my head.

“Because my first wife was wearing it the night she died,” Gabriel said, his voice echoing in the quiet library.

I stared at Sloane. The blood had completely drained from her face.

“If she was wearing it when the boat exploded, it should be at the bottom of the marina,” Gabriel continued, stepping methodically toward Sloane. “But it was in your safe. Which means you didn’t just take a photograph from the dock, Sloane. You went onto the boat. You took it off her neck.”

Sloane backed against the bookshelf, shaking her head. “She was already dead! The boat hadn’t exploded yet, but she was dead! Eric killed her and left her there!”

“Liar,” Gabriel said softly.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the airport locker ticket.

“I had Martin send a team to the airport while we were at the apartment,” Gabriel said. “They forced the locker open.”

Sloane stopped breathing.

“Do you know what was inside?” Gabriel asked. “It wasn’t divorce papers. It wasn’t blackmail on me.”

He pulled a small audio cassette tape from his pocket and set it on the desk next to Sloane.

“It was a recording of a nineteen-year-old girl named Elena, offering Eric Tanner two million dollars of her father’s money to plant a bomb on my wife’s boat.”

The silence in the room was absolute.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Sloane hadn’t just witnessed the murder. She had orchestrated it. Fifteen years ago, as a teenager, she had eliminated the woman in Gabriel’s life, playing a long, psychotic game to eventually step into her place.

“You hired him,” Gabriel said, his voice empty of all emotion. “You hired Eric to kill her. And when Eric got greedy and married my daughter to stay close to the money, you panicked. You set him up tonight to get him arrested so he couldn’t expose you.”

Sloane looked at the tape. Then at Gabriel.

The mask finally fell entirely. Her face twisted into a snarl of pure hatred.

“She didn’t deserve you!” Sloane spat. “She was going to divorce you and take half your empire! I protected your legacy! I did what you were too weak to do!”

“You murdered the mother of my child,” Gabriel said.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t strike her. He just looked at her like she was a stain on the floor.

“Martin,” Gabriel said quietly.

The doors opened. Martin stepped in, followed by two Philadelphia police detectives.

“Elena Victor,” the lead detective said, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, extortion, and the homicide of Marie Mancini. Eric Tanner is already in custody singing like a bird.”

Sloane didn’t fight. She stared at Gabriel with cold, dead eyes as they cuffed her.

As she was led past me, she stopped. She looked at my bandaged knee, then at my face.

“You’re just a maid,” she whispered venomously. “He’ll throw you away the second he doesn’t need you.”

“Watch your step on the way out,” I said quietly. “I hear the stairs are slippery.”

Sloane glared, but the detective pulled her out the door.

When they were gone, the library felt ten degrees warmer.

Gabriel stood by the fireplace, staring into the dying embers. The weight of fifteen years of deception was suddenly lifted, but it left a hollow silence behind.

I quietly gathered the tea cups from the desk, giving him his space. I was an employee. My job was done.

I turned toward the door.

“Erin,” Gabriel called out.

I stopped.

He turned around. He looked exhausted, but his eyes were entirely focused on me.

“You didn’t have to stay,” he said. “You didn’t have to help me.”

“You helped me when my son was in danger,” I replied softly. “I pay my debts, Mr. Mancini.”

He walked toward me, closing the distance until I had to look up to meet his gaze.

“Stop calling me that,” he said.

He reached out and gently took the empty tray from my hands, setting it aside.